In Which Belle Learns the Trade
by cepaul518
Summary: Rumplestiltskin takes Belle with him on a "business trip," a mundane task that turns far more adventurous. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_Well, this one is turning out a lot longer than I expected :P Which is good, because I feel like the last one was too short and underdeveloped. I think you guys will like this one more :) Rumple takes Belle with him on a "business trip." :P_

_Songs I listened to while writing it (which turned out to be disgustingly appropriate):_

_U2's "With or Without You" performed by 2CELLOS_  
_Trent Reznor's "Hurt" performed by 2CELLOS_  
_"Promentory"/"The Kiss" - Trevor Jones, Last of the Mohicans Soundtrack_  
_"Sail" - Awolnation_  
_"My Body is a Cage" - Peter Gabriel_

* * *

She was smiling, all the time. Constantly. It made him sick. What was there to be so happy about? She smiled even when she was on her hands and knees scraping out the fireplace. It had gotten to the point now where he was growing uncomfortable with watching her work. She was more of a guest in his home now, rather than a housekeeper. Even when she did foolish things like polish the mirrors, he felt guilty about throwing her in the dungeon. His temper explosions didn't even seem to faze her anymore.

Had she become used to him? It didn't seem likely…there was no way any person on earth could tolerate his radical and wildly unpredictable mood swings.

—

"I'm leaving for awhile on a business call," Rumplestiltskin told her one morning. He adjusted his shirt cuffs and pulled his traveling coat on. It was left unsaid that he expected the place to be immaculate upon his return.

"Take me with you."

His eyes flicked in her direction.

"I want to learn about your trade," Belle explained. His face crinkled up in bewilderment. Why in heaven's name would she want to do that?

"I'm, ah…afraid it wouldn't be very interesting for you, love. Boring business, deal-making."

He was lying, of course. There were certain lines of morality that he had no problems crossing when it came to his work. He did not, however, wish to expose Belle to his ethical deviances.

"Look, it's no secret what you do," Belle snorted. "Your name has been thoroughly besmirched across this entire land."

He was torn. On one hand, the idea of Belle's company pleased him, but on the other…there was a chance she would disapprove of his dealings and try to interfere. That was unacceptable.

He studied her, his eyes narrowed in consideration.

"I'll make you a deal—" he began, and she immediately interrupted him.

"How did I know you were going to say that?"

His eyebrows lowered and he pressed on in a stern tone. "You can come along dearie, but I don't want to hear a single peep out of you whilst I'm conducting transactions. You are to stay out of the way. Do you understand?"

Belle's head nodded ecstatically.

"No meddling, no protesting, no disapproving of my affairs," he continued. Her head continued to bobble in comprehension. "Do not distract me, do not provide input, and above all else, do not try to _help_."

He paused for a breath, and Belle chewed on her lip with eager anticipation.

"Alright then," he finally concluded with a tug on his jacket. "Let's go."

—

By evening they reached the ferry that would take them to the island town of Lindau. Realistically, it wasn't necessary for Rumplestiltskin to travel by conventional means. He could easily spirit himself to wherever he desired. But each minute that remained was another minute he was able to spend with Belle.

The fog grew thick as they stood on the small wooden barge that carried them silently across the water. He felt Belle's hand tighten around his elbow, and she peeked anxiously out from her hood. He couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"The only thing you have to fear around here is me, dearie," he growled furtively. She looked up at him and he smirked. She had wanted to get to know him. This was certainly going to be her opportunity, and he doubted she would like what she discovered.

They reached the far shore, and the town was dead quiet.

"You go to the inn," he instructed. "I'll be right along." Before she could protest, he was gone.

—

The next morning, he rapped on her door. She flung it open, quite obviously infuriated with him. "You were supposed to take me with you!" she shouted. "I promised to follow all of your stupid little rules. Why didn't you take me with you?"

_Because you make my life a living hell_, he thought. "I had a small errand to attend to," he said.

She crossed her arms and gave him an unsympathetic glower.

"I've brought you a gift," he clarified. Her face went slack with surprise, and he pointed at the bed behind her. There, laid out in the sunlight, was an ornate gown crafted of amethyst velveteen. He lingered in the doorway as she ran to examine it, her voice ringing with delighted laughter.

"Why?" she pealed.

"For later…when you accompany me to my meeting. I can't have my business associate looking like a frazzled slave girl, now can I." He was exaggerating. Belle _never_ looked like a frazzled slave girl. He didn't think he could bear it if she ever did appear tattered and worn.

"And who did you kill to get it?"

He grinned darkly at her.

—

At precisely eight o'clock that evening, they arrived at the palace. Only half an hour late, fashionably. They strolled past the guards who were unable to stop them; they made it through the gates, over the bridge, and past the portcullis with nary a protest. Rumplestiltskin had subdued them all with a simple snap of his fingers. He arrived in the foyer of the Great Hall with Belle on his arm, and demanded to be introduced. The rector manning the reception podium backed himself into a wall.

"You will introduce us, _now_," Rumplestiltskin hissed through his teeth. He hadn't been invited, of course…though he'd been known to crash a few parties in his day, and there was really nothing anyone could do about it.

The pair strode into the entryway to the ballroom, and the usher announced their arrival with a quake in his voice. With that, and a firm air of authority, he swept Belle out onto the floor clustered with other finely dressed patrons.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, grasping his shoulders apprehensively. She was much too stiff.

"Go with the flow, dear, please. You're drawing attention."

She gaped at him. "Are you joking? You called attention straight to us as soon as we walked in."

It took several moments to settle into a tempo and routine that matched the other dancers; the string quartet was playing a waltz. She relaxed once they had the pace down, and in no time they were spiraling about the floor in unison with the other couples.

"You see the wife over there," he murmured to her as they spun and danced in time to the music. He tilted his head in the direction of the stately woman he was referring to. "She's married to the lord or the prince, or whatever nonsense he is. But she doesn't want to be. She wants to be married to that politician over there." He leaned his head once more, to the opposite side of the room where a very burly, statuesque-looking fellow stood. "He's held in higher esteem, you see. She is trying to elevate her status."

"But she has to have something you want. To complete the deal," Belle whispered back, as she glided along with him to the rhythm. "What is it you want from her?"

He was quiet and pensive for a moment; they wheeled and weaved amidst the other couples, many of them throwing disgusted looks in his direction when they caught sight of his face. "We'll just have to see what she has to offer."

But for now, he would enjoy this dance. He was in no hurry. The night was young and he had his hands on a beautiful girl. He caught her looking over his shoulder at the woman he'd just told her about.

"It's sad that she's not in love with either of them."

"'Tis the way of the world."

The chamber ensemble slipped into a slower sort of ballad, and Belle tucked herself into his chest. He allowed it; it was much easier to distract himself away from her allure in a room full of people. He had to maintain his presence and composure. They were all terrified of him, despite the jovial atmosphere of the ball. In fact, having a woman in his arms was probably working to his advantage. Surely, in their eyes, he'd somehow bewitched the poor girl, lured her with his sinister guile. What would he do with her? He could see it in their faces—without a doubt, he would drag her back to his lair later and suck the meat off her bones.

Belle sighed contentedly, her warm breath drifting across his cheek. He hadn't realized she'd leaned in so close; his body tensed and he cleared his throat uneasily.

"Well, I was just getting comfortable," Belle hummed into his ear. "There's no need to panic." She ventured further, testing him, no doubt to see if she could break him in room full of people. The woman had a cruel streak to rival his own. She pressed her warm cheek to his. _"The only thing you have to fear around here is me,"_ she whispered.

He closed his eyes, his fingers tightening at her waist. He released a long slow exhale, as though he'd been holding it for a hundred years.

"Ah, Belle," he muttered. "Bringing you was a mistake." He could feel her smile wide against his face.

"As far as I recall, you never set any rules against this."

"I said you weren't allowed to distract me."

She fell silent, and braced herself as if to pull away. He'd thrown a technicality in her face; she realized she was breaking the terms of their agreement.

He held her fast. "You're not going anywhere," he crooned, his eyes darting about the hall. "You're making me look good."

He owned the room with this woman. He could feel the tension and the fascination being stirred up by their presence, especially with the hedonistic way they moved together. This strange girl, ravishing in her opulent dress, had the entire length of her body pressed against that of the Beast as though they were long-lost lovers. His arms around her were protective, but not possessive…yet no one dared to cut in for a dance with beautiful Belle. The entire assembly could see that she belonged to him and him alone.

The slow ballad ended, and when they finally came to a stop, he drew in a shuddering breath. Looking down at her, he said: "Let's get to work."


	2. Chapter 2

_Music I listened to while writing:_

_The "Archangel" and "Invincible" albums by Two Steps From Hell (good shiz, you guys should listen if you like soundtracky-type stuff)._

* * *

The woman caught Rumplestiltskin's eye from across the room, and beckoned him. Taking Belle by the hand (she didn't hesitate to lace her fingers through his, he noted), he led her across the hall, where the woman ushered them into a private salon.

They would begin. This was the part he enjoyed the most—watching his 'clients' squirm at their indecision. Most of them were fools, selfish and oblivious to consequences. Everyone had a choice, but the question was whether or not it was the right one. They wanted so badly to get what they desired, but were always so reluctant to pay his asking price. They should have known better. Making deals with the devil never ended well.

Ever.

"Lovely party," he chirped as he ambled leisurely into the parlor. Belle remained several paces behind and slightly off to his right. She was to always remain in sight; it wasn't unusual for potential bargainers to attempt to 'get one over' on him.

"I'd ask what the occasion is, but ah…" he examined his fingernails. "I don't care."

"Who is this?" the woman asked, with a nod to Belle.

"She's my caretaker," Rumplestiltskin said wryly. Why hide the truth? "She takes care of me." Belle's eyebrows went up. So did the woman's.

"I see."

"To business, Madame Sapph."

"Indeed."

Rumplestiltskin spread his hands expectantly. "Well, out with it already."

"I have information," Sapph replied in a grim tone.

"Regarding?"

"The Queen. She's been scouring the countryside. She's looking for…it."

It? He squinted at her. His limbs ran cold, and he leaned in to peer at her more closely.

"…It," he echoed. Was she talking about…?

The woman nodded and shifted uncomfortably. He studied her face for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching. Without warning, he lurched forward and grabbed Sapph by the lapels of her magnificent dress coat.

"_It?"_ he shrieked in her face.

"Promise me our arrangement and I'll tell you more," she gasped, pawing at his fists. His lip curled derisively, and he released her with a disgusted shove.

"Fine," he spat. "It is done."

With trembling hands, the woman adjusted the front of her clothing and smoothed over her hair.

"And how is it that _you_ know of this?"

"I have ears in the Queen's court."

"How very convenient," he snarled.

"It is," she responded sharply. "From what I've heard, she and her entourage had intended a visit to the Dark Castle. Since you're not there right now, I'm willing to bet that she is."

The blood drained from his face. _"What?"_

—

"What—what was she talking about?" Belle panted as he dragged her by the elbow along beside him. It was late; the streets were empty. Most of the villagers were still at the ball.

"The bloody _dagger_," he said under his breath. The dagger he'd used to kill Zoso…the dagger that was now his. How did the Queen even know of it? He had hidden it quite well, but the last thing he was going to do was run straight to it. The Queen was watching, always watching, somehow, and he'd certainly be damned if he led her to it. He needed to guard it, but how—

"A dagger?"

Abruptly, he swung Belle to face him and dug his fingers into her shoulders. "You are not to speak of this to anyone, do you hear me? Do you _hear_ me?"

She leaned away, startled by his frantic rampage, but nodded in compliance. "Tell me what's happening. Let me help you." She leveraged her way out of his clutches.

He burst into a fit of maniacal giggles. "That's rich," he laughed.

Belle scowled, clearly insulted. He came within an inch of telling her to leave, but stopped himself. He couldn't send her off alone. His brain was quick…he was thinking ahead—if the Queen had found the dagger, she would have forced him to return by now. Or would she wait for him to come back on his own? The Queen had a routine habit of dropping by uninvited; she always managed to find a way around his security measures. But there was no way she could have found the dagger, none whatsoever. He was certain it was concealed well. At least, from anyone that was actually looking for it.

Rumplestiltskin curled his fists against the sides of his head, pacing as he racked his mind. What to do, what to do…

Did the Queen want to control him, or kill him? Most likely the latter. Then she would have his powers, and would be virtually unstoppable. His eyes darted to Belle. Her arms were crossed, and she was giving him a most peculiar look of…amusement? She looked extremely proud of herself—in fact, she looked rather triumphant. He was all too familiar with demeanors of triumph.

"Are you referring to…_this_ dagger?" She hiked up the side of her gown, and there, gartered to her lovely thigh, was a large knife with _RUMPLESTILTSKIN_ emblazoned across it.

He gaped at her leg, his mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. "_Wha-at?_ But…how? How did you—" he stammered, a surge of both relief and anger rolling through him.

"Well, if you're going to invite a girl into your house for eternity, at some point she's going to get bored and go poking around."

He wanted to kiss her. But he also wanted to slap her and scream in her face.

"You stupid, _stupid_ girl!" he seethed, marching up to retrieve his property. Quickly, she backed away from him and lowered her skirts, masking the weapon. She was clever. He wouldn't go fishing for it, and she knew it.

"Give it to me!"

"You tell me right now why this thing is so important," she demanded, shoving her finger in his face. "And I'll give it back."

She was bargaining with him; she was certainly a quick-learner.

He gazed at her in stark wonder. This girl had saved his life, and she didn't even know it. But lords almighty, was she stupid. They needed to get that dagger as far away from them as they possibly could.

—

They went back to the mainland under the cover of darkness, and settled down in the woods for the night. Rumplestiltskin started a fire without any sort of real effort, to the disgruntlement of Belle.

"How does it feel?" she asked, curling her arms around her knees as she sat by the fire. "To just…have nature at your beck and call?"

He paced around the fire, refusing to sit. He considered her question for a moment. It was hard for him to remember what it was like to be an ordinary man. He did, however, recall being weak. And fearful.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he muttered, more to himself. But that was a lie. There was one thing he was afraid of. Two things, actually. One of them was strapped to Belle's thigh. The other was Belle herself.

"That doesn't really answer my question."

He glanced down at her, through the licking and popping flames. He stared for a moment, the image of her distorted by the heat.

"Do you still regret bringing me?" she asked quietly.

He looked into the fire, his eyes dark. "I suppose not."

"You were going to tell me about the dagger."

"Yes, well." He sighed. "It is…the source of the curse. It _is_ the curse, I suspect. With it, I can be deprived of existence, if you will. Or be manipulated. You can imagine what might happen if it were to fall into the wrong hands."

"So. With this pretty little blade, I can control you, hm?" she pulled it out and examined it. He looked at her in alarm.

"Belle…"

"Oh, I'm just ribbing you. Don't worry; I'm not going to make you kiss me or anything like that."

He watched her uneasily. His life was in her hands, to direct him as she pleased. To kill him, even, if she wanted. But he was content to realize that he believed, with absolute conviction, that she would never do either of those things. Yet even though he allowed her to be responsible for it, he couldn't help but imagine trying to retrieve it in the middle of the night, his hand snaking up her thigh….

"Why don't you just destroy it?" she asked.

"It can't be destroyed."

"How do you know?"

"…I tried."

"How did you know destroying it wouldn't kill you?"

"I didn't."

"But if you're so hell-bent on retaining your powers, then why would you try to destroy it?"

He heaved another sigh. "Because the dagger is the one thing that can undo me—" he glanced at her—"besides the other…thing. You know."

Her eyebrow went up coyly.

"The dagger is a vulnerability. My attempts to destroy it failed, so I hid the damned thing best I could. Clearly, I didn't do a good enough job, since it's now strapped to your pretty little leg."

"You used magic to hide it…but I didn't use magic to find it."

He wondered at that—was the Queen using magic to try to track it down? It was likely she was having her soldiers do the painstaking work of actually looking for it. He imagined his house in shambles, books pulled from shelves and trinkets pulled from smashed cases.

No, they were definitely not going home. Not now.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, recently I attended this writing conference where there was a lot of emphasis on ensuring that a writer finds time to write EVERY DAY. Fanfiction counts, right? I mean, that's a totally legitimate means of improving one's literary skillz, right?_

…_Right?_

_In theory, I'm actually supposed to be working on my freaking book, but…gah. Gah. That's all I have to say. Rumplestiltskin, you've consumed my soul and I don't even care. In fact, I'm GLAD. AND I'M NOT SORRY._

_ALSO…not entirely sure what this "RumBelle war" is that's been going on, but I prefer to stay—ahem—neutral. So, if you like witty banter, humor, adventure, innuendo, and sexual tension, then read my stuff._

* * *

The next morning, Rumplestiltskin sent Belle to the nearest town with a wad of gold thread. She was to pick up provisions, along with changes of clothing. They'd spent the night in the woods in their ball garb, and needless to say, frills, ruffles, and heavy embroidery were neither appropriate, nor comfortable for traveling. While Belle was disappointed that her dress had been tarnished with swipes of muck, Rumplestiltskin was oblivious to the wreckage of his own attire.

She hadn't been gone long at all before she came hauling back to camp, out of breath and empty-handed. He scowled.

"Where are our supplies?"

"I have news," she huffed.

He frowned at her worried expression. She continued.

"All over town there are wanted posters—of you. The Queen is offering an enormous reward."

He snorted. "Please. No one can capture me. Though they're certainly welcome to try."

"That's the other thing," she fidgeted nervously. "The villagers were in the process of forming 'hunting' parties. I got out of there as fast as I could. That's why I didn't buy anything—if I would have handed over gold thread for payment, they would have known it came from you."

"Well, we can't very well continue tromping about in formal wear, now can we?"

"But I don't—"

"Give me the thread back." She handed it over.

He hated wasting magic like this, but there didn't seem to be an alternative. With a wave of his hand, the thread transformed into a leather pouch full of gold coins. He gave it back to her.

"Now let's give it another try, dearie. I'll go with you this time."

"But the whole place is swarming with—"

"Fret, fret, fret!" he sang. "Fret not."

She had forgotten, apparently, that he had more than just a few tricks up his sleeve.

With a subtle gesture, his appearance began to change. His skin brightened and his muddy irises condensed into a warm, glossy brown. His cheeks filled out and his teeth shone like ivory. His mess of wiry hair relaxed into fine, well-kept russet-colored locks, with hints of grey at his temples.

He looked…human.

Rumplestiltskin examined his once-gnarled hands, his fingers now fleshy and well-manicured. The metamorphosis had been an unusual sensation; he hunched over and shook himself out like a dog after a bath. Belle stood back, slack-jawed and speechless.

"Now, come," he said, smoothing over the front of his still-mussed clothing. "I want to witness this nonsense for myself."

—

Belle wouldn't stop gaping at him. She seemed utterly transfixed as they ambled up the dusty road toward town. It was making him uncomfortable.

"This is remarkable," she breathed. She reached up to touch his face, but he pulled his head away.

"It's a waste," he snapped. His snide voice had gone unchanged despite his new facade.

"Is this what you looked like…before? I mean, I saw a hint last time…but only for a moment. And not this…_complete_."

He responded with an irate grumble.

She sighed and skipped along beside him as though they were taking a mundane, leisurely stroll. What a domestic pair they were.

When they finally reached the edge of town, Rumplestiltskin lingered near the goat paddocks while Belle went to make their purchases. Something tacked to a nearby tree caught his eye; it was a notice from the Queen, with conditions, terms, and a substantial reward offering.

Very, very substantial. It was impressive even by his standards.

He stood with arms crossed, glowering critically at the wanted poster with his likeness scribbled on it.

"Here." Belle had returned with their items, and slapped a large brown cloak over his shoulder.

"This is an absolute horrid rendition of me," he drawled in disappointment.

"Yes, well…if we don't get out of here soon, someone's going to notice that you seem a little familiar." She tugged on his arm, and he followed along. They both donned their cloaks before taking the road through town. After only a few strides, Rumplestiltskin came to a halt outside a shabby, well-worn building.

"We need to stop in here for a moment," he insisted.

"The _pub?_" she hissed. "We don't have time for a drink!"

"The pub is always the best place to listen in on gossip, dearie. Didn't you know?"

People loved to talk. Especially drunk people. This place would be a wealth of rumors—and he needed information. Before she could insist otherwise, he sidled his way into the questionable establishment. She followed, reluctantly, keeping her head low.

"Now Belle, be a dear and get us a couple of pints." He caught her rolling her eyes as he wandered to a table near a large throng of belligerent gentlemen. They were already loaded, he could tell, despite their ambition to go out and "hunt down that imp's depraved, magical ass."

He took a seat nearby where he could watch the debacle, but was momentarily distracted when Belle plunked down a stein of ale in front of him.

"Enjoy," she said, her tone laced with sarcasm. She sat across from him and nestled her own stein between her palms.

She was partially blocking his view of the loud-mouthed ruffians behind her. He craned his head to see around her, but an idea came to him suddenly.

"Belle, dear…"

"No."

"What's that?"

"I'm not doing it."

"I didn't even ask—"

"I'm not going to talk to them. I'm not going to go sit on their laps and tell them how handsome and strong they are, and how they should give me all the details of their planned excursion."

"But—"

"No. I'm going to sit here and enjoy my ale and stare at your face, because I know you hate it."

—

Several hours and several pints later, Rumplestiltskin was in trouble. Belle grabbed him by the cloak collar and hauled him out the door.

"_You idiot,"_ she hissed. "You're too drunk to even concentrate! Your disguise is wearing off."

It was true; he'd been completely distracted by tavern talk, ale, rowdy drunks, whispers of the Queen—and, repeatedly, by Belle's cleavage.

His hair was becoming matted and coiled once more, and the sickly copperish-grey color was returning to his skin. He stuck his fingers in his mouth—even his teeth were beginning to feel ragged again.

By the time they stumbled to the edge of town, he'd reverted entirely. Belle made sure to keep his head covered, and she veered them off the road to avoid any unwelcome attention from passers-by.

He couldn't help but be annoyed. "You seem to forget that I have no problems with confrontations, dearie."

"Yes, well. There's no need to attract unwanted interest. Or else we'd never get anything done; we'd be spending all of our time fending off goons."

They had managed, however, to glean information in the tavern regarding the supposed manhunt. Rumplestiltskin suspected that his house might soon be lost. On any other occasion, the thought of townsfolk attempting to storm his castle would cause him to collapse into hysterics.

But they had the Queen helping them. And the queen knew how to get in. He expected the next time he saw his home, it would be in ruins.

"Looks like it's another night in the woods," Belle sighed.

"Goody."

"At least we have a tent this time."

They looked at each other.

"Who gets the tent?" Belle asked.

Really, it seemed like they should have been beyond this point. They were both mature adults, after all. And yet.

"The tent is yours," Rumplestiltskin offered. Belle planted her hands on her hips.

"There's no reason why we can't share it, it's big enough that we'll each have plenty of space."

He knew this was a disaster waiting to happen. He'd—_they'd_—been drinking, and if his will power hadn't already been tested enough, it was certainly going to be a hellacious challenge at this point.

He really hated this.

But he consented. Reluctantly.


	4. Chapter 4

Rumplestiltskin couldn't remember the last time he'd been this intoxicated. He lay sprawled, flat on his back with fingers folded over his stomach, staring at the tent ceiling. Belle was several feet to his left, wrapped up in her cloak and facing away.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, her shoulder slowly rising and falling. He thought back to their dance the night prior…the feel of her in his arms, her heat radiating against him. Her breath on his neck….

His eyelids fluttered closed.

—That was enough of that. That sort of thinking was the absolute _wrong_ thing to do.

Sleep came upon him quickly, once the spinning ceiling settled and there was nothing left to focus on but the lull of his own vertigo.

—

Sometime during the night, a disturbance woke him. He opened his eyes to see that Belle's head was resting on his chest; she had apparently migrated from her side of the tent.

But there was something moving. He thought it was a small animal of some kind at first, but then he realized that…it was her hand? He watched her fingers in the darkness as they idly toyed with the buttons on his vest. The idle toying became drowsy fumbling—until the top button released. Her hand moved down to the next one.

His eyes flew wide.

"…You're awake," she murmured.

He swallowed, hard. "How could you tell?"

"Your heart is racing. It wasn't just a moment ago." Her head shifted a bit onto his shoulder, and she continued to work on his vest buttons.

He opened his mouth to speak again, to ask her what the hell she was doing, to tell her to stop. But his voice wasn't working.

When the final button was undone, she reached her hand inside the vest and began to undo the shirt closures.

_Belle…oh, Belle, no…._

She slid her cool hand into the folds of his silk blouse. His body locked head to toe as her fingers trailed down his sternum, and his jaw set as if in dire pain. She pulled herself closer still, curling her arm around him inside his shirt.

"I'm cold," she explained matter-of-factly. "You're nice and warm."

A string of nervous sniggers escaped him and he shifted uneasily. "Is that all?"

He sucked in a breath as her fingernails raked along his bare ribs. She moved her head then, to look at him.

"Just let me touch you," came her earnest whisper. "If it's all that I can do…then just let me touch you."

Rumplestiltskin had no response for her. No words of acquiescence. No words of objection. He simply gawped at her obscure form. It was too dark to read her expression, but he could hear the seriousness in her voice.

He couldn't decide what to do with his hands. For the moment, his fingers remained tragically clenched at his sides, the tendons lurching out of his skin like wretched tree roots.

To add insult to injury, she'd added her breath to her movements. Her mouth lingered just near his bare skin, so, so careful not to touch. Her warm exhalations elicited a tremble from him.

He envisioned seizing her…burying his fingers in her hair, pulling her face to his. He imagined himself kissing _her_ this time, with all the power and force behind it that he was capable of—instead of sitting like he had at his spinning wheel, as a feeble whelp. She had nearly turned him. She had nearly stripped away his supremacy and left him to wallow in the pathetic cesspit of humanity.

He remembered the way she'd tasted. That brief, sweet moment, before the rage. He craved that taste again—but he wanted more of it. He wanted to taste the place where her neck met her shoulder; he wanted to taste the hollow of her throat. And her mouth he wanted to savor, for much, much longer than that fleeting moment when she'd changed his world forever.

It was impossible to remember the last time a woman had touched him in such a way. It was also impossible for him to even enjoy it, for all he could think about was how much he needed her to _stop_.

"Belle. _Belle._"

He caught her by the wrists. Squirming out of her grasp, he promptly exited the tent and hastily re-buttoned his clothing.

"You're a coward, Rumplestiltskin."

He froze in his tracks, then spun on his heel. "How dare you!" he howled at the tent. "You know the rules! You have to stop this. You can't—" his voice cracked and he hesitated. "You can't keep making me _want _you."

"Stop blaming me," her voice wavered, quieter than before. "This is your own fault."

Rumplestiltskin threw his hands up in the air, and stomped away from the tent. In his heart, he knew that she was right. He'd taken her into his home, gotten to know her, allowed her to grow close. He loved her. But he could not _have_ her. She knew the reasons why, and yet she persisted. She taunted him…teased him, as if she could care less about the world.

Perhaps she didn't, he realized. Perhaps she didn't give a care to the world at all.

Infuriated, he stalked off into the forest. He needed to go for a walk…at least, until his trousers didn't seem quite so tight anymore.

—

After thirty or so minutes had passed and his head was sufficiently cleared, Rumplestiltskin returned to the camp.

"Belle," he called out. There was no answer.

"Come now, dearie, you can't still be angry." Bitter silence continued. Irritation began to brew within him once again. He bent to throw back the flap of the tent.

"Girl, now I've told you— "

He stopped as he realized Belle wasn't inside. He peered into the darkness within, her slight form nowhere to be seen. He spun about, instantly alert to the sounds of the forest. He could neither hear, nor see anything that merited alarm. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a large, flaming orb that lit up the entire area.

He called out her name again, and went several paces before he finally looked down at the ground.

It clear that someone had followed them; he could see several sets of large footprints all around the tent. There were hoof prints as well, along with drag marks…as though a young girl had been hauled away. He snarled as he whirled to examine the indentations. He realized then, what a horrific decision it had been for him to leave.

Without warning, there was a piercing twinge in the back of his mind; something inside him lurched. He stumbled forward a few steps, as though yanked by an invisible thread.

And then he heard her—she was crying out for him. There was terror in her voice. He twisted around again, trying to find the source of her frantic pleas.

"…Belle?"

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't actually hearing her—she was in his_head_. He felt it then, an agonizing awareness that could not be ignored. An awareness of being beckoned. As if he was being called home. The impulse to obey was overpowering and irresistible.

His eyes closed, gooseflesh rose along his skin…and then, he knew exactly where she was and what she was doing.

Belle was using the dagger to summon him.


	5. Chapter 5

Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes. He'd arrived some place dark, much darker than the forest had been. As he waited a moment for his vision to adjust, he could tell by the ambient scents and echoes that he was in a cave of some kind. Likely the Queen's dungeons.

Somewhere ahead, there was a scuffle. A brief, hesitant movement.

"Who's there?" Belle's voice came, sharp and quick. He could tell she was trying to mask her fear.

He cleared his throat.

"Oh, you came!" she appeared before him then, and without hesitation, she flung her arms around his neck.

"Of course I came. I had no choice."

She pulled away. "Oh. Right," she said, offering the dagger to him. "I better give this back."

"You hold onto it, dear," he instructed. "I've no place to hide it." Quickly, Belle slipped it back into her garter.

"Can you get us out of here?" she asked.

"Hold onto me."

Belle clutched his shoulders, and he snaked his arms around her waist as though preparing to whisk her into dance once again. Closing his eyes, he pictured a safe place, far away…distant mountains that he frequented as a boy.

Nothing happened.

"Well?" Belle asked impatiently.

"It's not working," he grumbled.

"What?"

"Wait…you have the dagger. Command me."

"I order you to get us out of here, Rumplestiltskin."

Despite the stinging provocation in the recesses of his brain, he could not comply.

"It's not _working_," he hissed through his teeth.

And then, a woman's laugh came, ominous and sinister, from somewhere within the depths of the cavern. Rumplestiltskin growled. He turned, pulling Belle protectively behind him.

From the shadows she appeared, the Evil Queen, ornamented in all her nefarious glory. She glided toward them with chin held high, poised like the menacing serpent she was.

"Oh, Rumple," the Queen chuckled. She drew close and circled the pair, her pace languid and unhurried. "You and this ridiculous girl! How predictable you are. This was almost too easy. A bit disappointing, really. Love truly is our greatest downfall. And—I daresay you're quite the cradle-robber. How old are you now?"

"As far as looks go, some might say I'm younger than you, dearie."

The Queen stopped in her tracks and shot him a sour glare before continuing. "I'll cut to the chase. Tell me where the dagger is, and I'll let your little lamb go free."

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea as to which dagger you might be referring to."

Rumplestiltskin was furious. He'd gone through extraneous lengths to ensure that no one, _no one_ even had knowledge of the dagger's existence. How did the Queen come to learn of it? The only person that knew anything about the dagger had been his son, and—

"I'm not going to play games with you, _imp_. It wasn't at the Dark Castle. So you've either moved it, or…" she trailed off, her dark gaze falling on Belle.

"You know what?" the Queen asked, the sinister grin returning to her crimson lips. "Let's make this as simple as possible. I'll make you a _deal_. Either you give me the dagger now, or you will be responsible for Belle's death. I'll make sure word gets to her father…about how you tortured your little 'caretaker'…and then killed her."

Rumplestiltskin made as if to lunge at the deceptive wench, but Belle, bless her heart, stopped him. He waved his hand instead, but only a few pitiful sparks fizzled forth from his fingertips.

The Queen's teeth gleamed in the dim light. "Your magic is useless against me in this place."

He curled his outstretched fingers into a fist.

"At the stroke of midnight I will return," the Queen resumed, the mirth in her voice dissolving. "With Belle's father and his men. If the location of the dagger is not revealed to me then," her gaze lingered on Rumplestiltskin as she looked him over, "I will let them have their way with you."

A trembling sneer curled at the corner of his lip. The Queen could not intimidate him. They'd been through this before, many times…constantly at each other's throats. The never ending power struggle. Oh, but it would end tonight. That he could be sure of.

With a flourish of her cloak, the Queen was gone.

"Let's get out of here. Now," Belle insisted.

"Not possible, dearie. This place is a labyrinth. Enchanted, of course."

"You know it?"

Rumplestiltskin sighed irately. "I built it. It belongs to her, now…there is only one way out. She has to let us out. Or else we wander to our deaths. Well, to your death, anyway."

Belle looked at him in horror. "Why in the world would you _build_ a place like this?"

He shrugged. "I always enjoyed a good puzzle."


	6. Chapter 6

_Sooooo…this chapter required a bit of alteration because of the most recent episode of OUAT. Dang it, that's what I hate about writing fics before the show's even resolved._

* * *

Belle leaned into the crevice of a rock face and heaved a sigh. "Please tell me you can get us out of here before she returns," she said dourly.

"Working on it, dearie." Rumplestiltskin paced, his fingers rubbing against each other in preoccupied conflict.

The two of them ruminated for several moments, Belle's arms tightly folded and Rumplestiltskin's fingertips flicking sparks of exasperation as he racked his brain.

"Wait," Belle muttered. "You changed your appearance before—can you still do that? In here?"

Rumplestiltskin glanced down at his hand, willing it to transform. It complied, iridescent and flickering in the low light as it changed. He could, it seemed, still inflict magic upon himself at least. He looked at Belle, immediately picking up on her train of thought.

"What if…" she began.

"What if we traded places?" he asked, hesitant. Belle nodded. He thought for a moment—this would certainly be better. If the Queen came to take Belle, it would actually be him. And he could keep the dagger with him, to ensure he maintained control of it. But would the Queen see through their ruse?

He took Belle's hand in his own, his gaze settling intently on her face as he concentrated. She watched him as well, and her expression began to warp and shift into one creased with grotesque bitterness and exhaustion—it was his own face.

It was like looking into a mirror.

"…This is bizarre," Belle said, echoing his thoughts. Immediately she burst into laughter as she realized it was her own voice still emanating forth, out of the mouth of Rumplestiltskin. He snorted as well, which only prompted more peals of mirth from Belle.

"Such a masculine tone I have!" she sniggered, pointing at his—at her own—breasts.

He glanced down, momentarily tempted to grope his new body before realizing that would be incredibly inappropriate.

"Whatever you do, don't talk while _she's_ here," he hissed. "Don't say a bloody word." Pausing, another idea came to mind.

"Wait," he began slowly. Picking up the dagger, he pensively thumbed the blade.

A decoy shimmered into the palm of his other hand, a near-exact replica of the original. Identical, except that it lacked any real power. The fake he would leave with Belle. Rather awkwardly, he hiked up the side of his skirts as he'd seen her do earlier, and tucked the true dagger into the garter belt cinched around his slender thigh.

Belle burst once more into a fit of giggles.

—

At midnight, the Queen returned with an entourage of soldiers. Belle's father was nowhere to be seen. She hesitated, her eyes darting back and forth between her two prisoners. She snorted in disgusted amusement.

Rumplestiltskin knew immediately that they had already failed. The Queen could see right through the charade.

"Surely you're joking," Regina sneered. "You were able to see me disguised as a rat, you think I'm not capable of recognizing the same _lie?_ Enough of this nonsense." With a wave of her hand, their deception dissolved away.

The trappings of the Dark One crumbled away from Belle, revealing her lovely true self as well as a startled expression.

Freed of the garter, the dagger fell to the bottom of Rumplestiltskin's pantleg with a_clunk_. The Queen cocked her head at the sound with delighted intrigue.

"Well, well," she said, eyebrows raising. Before Rumplestiltskin could move, she had him locked in place, frozen, unable to keep him from retrieving the dagger. Belle uttered a small sound of alarm.

"Oh _my_," Regina crooned, clucking her tongue. She plucked the knife up between thumb and forefinger, drawing it carefully out from the leg of his trousers.

"Rumple, really? If I'd known before that you were hiding this in your pants, I would have…" she trailed off, her gaze darting mischievously to Belle. She strolled away from them, cradling the dagger affectionately, as though it were a pet.

"You know," she continued. "I was keeping Belle alive for leverage, but I think just for fun, I'll kill her anyway. Only…" she turned and leveled her finger thoughtfully at Rumplestiltskin. Her scarlet lips pulled back into a baleful grin. "…I think I'll make _you_ do it."

Rumplestiltskin went numb. "Don't—"

The Queen's gaze darkened, her face serious and her voice hard while she fondled the blade. "Go on," she commanded. "Kill. Her." She flipped her hand at him as if she was shooing away an insect.

Belle gasped.

His frozen stance was replaced by a pull of domination. An agonizing surge of persistent, demanding pain erupted through his body. He was resisting Regina…but it wasn't working. She had the dagger. He was hers to command, and no amount of defiance was going to change the rules.

He could see already how this would go. She would make him kill Belle…and then she would kill _him_. She would take his powers, and it would all be over. The Queen rejoined her soldiers and continued to stroke the dagger, observing the pair with great anticipation.

Rumplestiltskin had already begun advancing on Belle, and she was foolishly making her way towards a corner. He had thought very quickly for a resolution to this mess, and thought he didn't like it, there was only one option. For years he'd been in control, taking advantage of poor desperate souls, giving and taking and maintaining balance. He presented choices. And now he would have to make one of his own.

"Belle," he said in a hushed, tremulous voice. "Belle…you have to kiss me."

"Wha-at?" she hissed. She seemed torn between coming to him and backing away from him.

His teeth were clenched. "Do it."

"But I _can't_, that'll—"

"Do you want to live, girl!"

She paused in her evasion, considering the sincerity of his logic. The delay in her motion was enough for him to close the gap; he seized her by the hair and yanked her head back. She shrieked, arms flailing in horrified protest. His hands, of their own accord, found their way to her throat. He squeezed.

She fought against him, clawing at his fists, yelling, yet all the while trying to lean towards his face. She gasped in terror as his grip tightened, her windpipe compressing beneath his brutal clutches. He howled in his anguish as he clamped down on her throat with all his might. She dug her fingernails into his wrists.

_Please, Belle…._

She had to do it. There was no other way. He had vowed to find his son…but he could not lose them both. He _would_ not lose them both. He would find another way to search for Bae. With or without his power, he would not give up. And he refused to accept that this girl could possibly die at his hands.

Belle's legs gave out from beneath her; the two of them toppled to the ground, his fingers still secure and vice-like under her jaw.

She was pressed beneath him now, unable to escape his vicious, clawed hands. Her face, red and strained, drew slowly closer to his. There was panic in her eyes, but they were forgiving and comprehending and determined. No sound could escape her, for his fingers were too tightly wrapped around her throat. Her mouth, trembling and breathless, reached for his. In one last effort, she released his wrists and gouged her fingers into his shoulders, pulling him to her. At last, her gasping mouth met his grimacing lips.

Despite the wailing protest in the back of his mind, his eyelids fell. He could feel it—the same thing he'd felt before, the first time she'd kissed him. The stinging warmth that began in his face. It traveled down his neck and spread through his limbs, leaving his ears ringing and his heart stumbling. He didn't fear it this time. Whatever darkness had gripped him slowly began to burn away as his free will was returned to him.

He dared to kiss her more deeply. His fingers softened around her throat and trailed along her mottled skin, as the torrents of frightening, powerful magic drained from his body. It oozed out of him as though he'd been punctured, the leak of enchanted toxin bleeding dry and evaporating into oblivion. She gasped when his hands loosened, but instead of pulling away, she pressed her palms to his cheeks. She held him there and he felt her smile, her lips upturning against his own.

His knee buckled, overcome with a sudden, stabbing pain. An old wound had returned, reminding him of his mortality. The unexpected distraction broke the kiss, leaving their trembling breaths lingering on each other's mouths.

"It's you," she breathed.

"Of course it's me," he chortled. "Who else would it be?"

Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice, so much softer and subdued than it had been before. She smiled gleefully, her fingers gently roaming his face as she traced his different, but very familiar features. He looked at his hands—they appeared warm and, once again, superbly ordinary.

A bellow of furious despair shattered the moment. The Queen, realizing what had happened, brandished the dagger overhead with clear intent to slay the deceptive imp. She would never have his magic now…there was only one thing left to do.

"You coward!" she shrieked, approaching rapidly with lethal determination. "You've at least made it easier for me to kill you!"

…Coward? Rumplestiltskin tilted his head at Regina, insulted.

He felt Belle brace beneath him.

"Wait," she whispered. He looked down at her, curiously searching her face. How could they hope to defeat the Queen as a pair of mere mortals? As he watched her eyes, he saw her gaze flicker downward. He glanced down as well. There, nestled securely in her bosom, was the concealed hilt of the counterfeit dagger. His breath caught in his throat; a clever smile appeared on Belle's lips.

He waited for the Queen to lunge.

Rolling off of Belle, Rumplestiltskin caught Regina's arms as she brought them down, halting the dagger's deadly descent. But then, something peculiar happened—the knife, seemingly aware that the Dark One no longer existed, began to disintegrate. The weapon that had withstood so many attempts at destruction, now withered and flaked away as though made of paper. Regina stared at it in horror.

Belle thrust upward, as hard as she could, with her own counterfeit blade. It plunged through the Queen's sternum. There was a sharp, trembling gasp of surprise, and everything seemed to come to an abrupt halt.

"You…" the Queen choked, her fingers grasping futilely around the crumbling knife. Powerless fragments fell from her hands.

"You wanted the dagger," Belle hissed, leaning on the hilt buried in Regina's chest. "Here it is." The Queen wailed in anguish.

"I curse you," she said, her strained voice dripping with hatred and defeat. She struggled to breathe, but only succeeded in choking once more. Blood was rising in her throat. She heaved a quaking pant, and with it a low, sinister laugh gurgledforth: _"All magic comes with a price." _

The Queen stumbled and fell, landing on the ground in a motionless slump.

Silence.

"…The Queen is dead," a relieved, weary voice finally came. It was one of the soldiers. He emerged from the shadows and threw his sword on the ground. "Long live the Queen."

—

Rumplestiltskin gazed at Belle. This woman was nothing short of amazing.

"Well, you certainly seem quite adept at concealing knives, that's for certain," he commented.

"That's not all." Reaching down the front of her blouse, Belle did a sort of little shimmy and bounce before finally pulling forth a small compass. "I assume this will come in handy since you can no longer simply whisk us back from whence we came."

"How…how did you…?" he gaped at her.

"Well, my good sir," she began, tousling her hair and patting it back into place. "While you were busy being a sloppy drunk at the tavern, I took the liberty of relieving the huntsmen of a few items."

He stared at her in disbelief. "A proficient pick-pocket as well, I see."

"What can I say; I have an affinity for shiny objects." She quirked a knowing eyebrow at him.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, unable to suppress a grin.

—

_**Author Notes: **__This ending (well, climax) is actually a combination of several that I devised. I came up with three (2 happy endings and 1 not-so-happy) and had planned to post the others as 'alternate endings'. I didn't really want to go this route, because it was important to me that Rumple had free will to make the decision on his own. It was important that he was willing to sacrifice his power in order to save Belle. Which he does here, but I don't like that he was under the influence of the Queen/dagger._

"_The Return" killed my original plan._

_So basically, the last episode of OUAT destroyed any legitimacy of Rumple being with Belle. There can be Gold x Belle, sure, but no Rumple x Belle. We've learned that the whole point of the curse was basically to find his kid, and any conceivable relationship with Belle is going to conflict with that. If he gives up his power to be with/save her/love her, then he's essentially washing his hands of Bae. And that's just…lame. This is all, of course, assuming any sort of RumBelle event occurs before Rumple gives the curse to the Queen. The curse requires 'the heart of the thing you love most.' That's the genius behind it—he had no one he could sacrifice. All he was waiting for was a Desperate Soul to come along, like the Queen. She fell right into it. There's also the speculation that he was leading her to it from the start._

_Anyway, it was also important to me for Belle to have some sort of pivotal role. She needed to have a strong purpose, otherwise she'd be just some useless tag-along love interest._

_Stay tuned!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Alright, from now on I'm not gonna promise pre-determined update times, because I obviously can't stick to them. Stupid life always gets in the way. I'm sure you know the deal. But needless to say, I made it up to you guys by giving this one quite the 'happy ending' – if you know what I mean. It goes out with a—ahem—bang._

_Alright, I'm done with the innuendo._

_AND FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T LET YOUR KIDS READ THIS. Also, it took a lot of alcohol to write this chapter._

* * *

They stood amid the wreckage of the Dark Castle. It was as Rumplestiltskin had feared—the Queen and her men had demolished the place looking for the wretched dagger. The source of indomitable power and catastrophic tragedy. He and Belle meandered in solemn silence through the foyer, stepping over shattered glass, marble shards, and fallen tapestries. As they moved through the house, he could tell the Queen had grown more and more irate as their search progressed. Even a few ceiling beams had been torn down in some places.

"You know," he finally uttered to Belle, "without my powers, it's going to take forever to clean this place up." He leaned on the walking stick he'd picked up during their trek home, feeling like a weary old man. He was sure he looked about the same. She glanced over at him as she stooped to pick up a large vase that had been knocked over. She was clearly dismayed by the state of the house.

"However," he continued, a mischievous smile pulling at his mouth. "I was thinking that perhaps, maybe, we could start the process…in my chambers."

Belle dropped the fallen vessel she'd been trying to right. Despite his roguish tone of voice, he looked at her seriously. She stared back at him, eyes wide. Her clever tongue seemed to have momentarily escaped her.

"You told me something a few days ago," he continued, disregarding her speechlessness. He took her by the hand and led her through the debris, weaving around and winding through the mess. "You mentioned that you couldn't be here for eternity without feeling compelled to go 'poking' around. Well, I should also point out that it can't be expected of me to not have a few stray thoughts about the beautiful housekeeper residing in my house."

They reached the bedroom at last, and he manually opened the door (he was used to flinging it open with magic). The bed was a wreck. The canopy had been torn down, and the mattress thrown from the large ornate frame. The brocade window dressings had been ripped from their fastenings and flung over ruined banisters. The sun streamed in, particulates of dust sparkling in the beam of light.

Belle was the first to enter. Rumplestiltskin remained in the doorway, taking in the sight and quivering in fury at the act of violation the Queen had committed. She had destroyed his _home_. His sanctuary.

Well, there wasn't anything he could do about it now. She was dead, and that was good enough for him.

"There is a silver lining to all this, dear," he said as he watched Belle sadly paw through a pile of damaged books. Pages had been carelessly torn from them, plucked out as though they'd been unruly chickens. She glanced up, her eyes watery and sympathetic. This had been her home too, he realized. He never considered that she truly thought it _home_, perhaps more of just a dwelling or residence. But he could see in her face that the place had been much more sentimental. He smiled to reassure her.

"Despite the fact that I'm now magically-disinclined," he paused, noticing a pair of his boots hanging from the rafters. "…I still have lots and _lots_ of money." He had enough to make repairs. He had enough to _hire_ workers to make repairs. Belle had been right—he'd spun more gold than he could ever spend. They could easily have new furnishings, new clothing, new books….

"But perhaps this time, we should just do away with the bloody curtains altogether." He scowled at the piled wads of torn brocade. Belle had done such a superb job un-nailing them and hanging them properly. With a sigh, she rose from the little nest of demolished books she had stacked around herself.

"That's fine and all, but…I want to hear more about these 'stray thoughts' you mentioned," she plied, changing the subject. "And if you think you can draw me in with your exorbitant amounts of money, you're sorely mistaken," she joked. "You're already stuck with me."

He felt he wasn't as amused as he should have been. He tilted his head at her. "You felt sorry for me. You took pity on me because I told you I lost my wife and son."

Her eyes narrowed at him, surprised by his off-putting response. "I don't pity you. I love you."

"You thought I was lonely."

"Well, weren't you?"

They stared at each other for several moments, the air now becoming contaminated with unwarranted tension. He'd brought her back here to finally reciprocate his love, not start a fight.

"I absolve you of our contract," he finally said with a dismissive gesture. He was powerless to enforce it at this point, anyhow.

"I was under the impression you'd waived our agreement long ago the first time you sent me into town."

He remained silent, his fists tightening around his stick.

"Why are you behaving this way?" she demanded. "You know I love you. The kiss wouldn't have worked otherwise. _Both_ times." She angrily stepped towards him, knocking over a neat stack of books. "And I dare say, Rumplestiltskin, that it wouldn't have worked if you didn't love me in return, but I have yet to hear the words from your wretched little lips."

His gaze flickered as he watched her, and for a moment, it seemed as though some force had sucked all the air out of the room.

His walking stick fell to the floor. In three quick, long strides he was upon her, one hand at her cheek and the other at the small of her back. He held her tightly, his mouth hovering just over hers before he spoke the words. She watched him, trembling, with wide, eager eyes.

"I do love you, Belle. With all my heart."

She breathed in a little happy gasp, a smile as bright as day lighting up her face. He kissed her then, savoring the warmth and softness of her gentle mouth. "How do you like my 'wretched little lips' now, dearest?" he asked with a playful smirk, his fingers gliding lightly over face.

Her cheeks flushed. "I quite like them indeed." She reached up to curl her fingers around his hand, and kissed his palm. "And I do believe, good sir, that you were supposed to elaborate on those stray thoughts of yours. In great, _great_ detail."

On spontaneous impulse, he stooped and swept his arm behind her knees, whisking her off her feet into his arms. He cringed at the foolish movement, his knee nearly making him regret the action. It held steady though, as he concentrated most of his weight on his good leg. He maneuvered her over to the relocated mattress and gently set her down upon the disheveled mess.

She tittered with delight as he crawled over top of her in a playful, predatory sort of way, and he suddenly remembered the evening they'd shared in the tent—the way she'd toyed with his clothing, innocently sneaking her clever little digits into his shirt…

He settled beside her, propping up his head with his hand as he trailed his fingers down her forehead, her nose, her chin, her throat…and then he slyly began to fidget with the laces on her bodice. Her breathing was quick…she'd gone quite quiet, but didn't seem compelled to object in the least. One by one he pulled the laces through the eyelets, the garment growing looser and looser. He finally reached the bottom, and, without hesitation, he ripped the laces clear and freed the blouse from where was tucked into her skirt. She sucked in a breath when his hand met her skin; his fingers trailed up her bare stomach and glided across her ribs.

Ahhh, sweet revenge.

Her body arced. She immediately seized him, her fingers curling tightly—almost painfully—into his hair. It was exactly as he'd imagined, that night in the tent. She met his mouth with ravenous determination, her eyes falling closed as his fingers kneaded into her skin.

He thrust his tongue through her lips, and she opened her mouth wide to meet his fervor. He pulled her on top of himself, his hands finding her hips with pernicious precision. The rolled and heaved against each other, never quite being able to get close enough despite their already negligible proximity.

He was so overwhelmed by her hair and her face and her lips and her scent, that when she suddenly ground her hips against his pelvis, he let slip a little ecstatic groan. She wasn't wasting any time in getting down to business, he could see. Admittedly, this was something he'd been yearning for, for a long, long time.

Without warning he sat up, clutching her shoulders as he delved once again between her lips.

Belle curled her legs around his waist, stradding his lap, and roughly began claw at his vest buttons. She made her way through them quickly this time, already familiar with the technique. She shoved the garment back over his shoulders, and immediately grasped for handfuls of his shirt. With his eager assistance, she worked to pull his shirt over his head. Once she succeeded, she flung it haphazardly in some irrelevant direction and buried her fingernails in the warm, soft skin of his shoulders. He gnawed at her neck, kissing and sucking and raking his teeth across her soft skin as she clung to him.

Her shirt was next, but she had already gotten ahead of him; he tried to wrestle the pesky cloth over her head as she vigorously fumbled with his trouser buttons. When he finally freed her of the blouse, he paused for a moment to take in the sight of her. She was truly lovely…he, of all people, certainly did not deserve her. As far as he was concerned, Belle was, by all accounts, the fairest in the land. And she was_his_.

He caught her hands as they worked at his trousers; a quick nudge and shuffle later, he had flipped her over on her back beneath him. He kissed a line down her chest, beginning at the hollow of her throat and making his way down between her breasts to her stomach.

Slowly, he slid the skirt down over her hips. He discovered then, much to his surprise and delight, that she was bare of undergarments. His gaze darted up to hers in surprise. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged demurely.

When he finally entered her, he nearly punched a nearby pillow in constrained frustration. It had been _years_ since he'd been with a woman, and he could tell with immediate certainty that this was just not going to last long at all. She sensed his hesitation; her hands brushed down his shoulders and ribs. When her fingers met the small of his back, that was the end of it. All control was forfeit. He lunged forward into her again, every trace of control and consideration rapidly slipping away from him.

Her muscles flexed and tightened around him as he continued, provoking a shiver that ran through his entire body and raising gooseflesh along his skin.

She curled her knees against his sides and clutched at his face, silently begging him not to stop. He panted over her, the muscles in his arms flexing and quivering in their tension.

The climax was upon him quickly; it rolled through his core…a long overdue thunderhead of delicious paroxysm. He adored this woman; she had driven him into a violent craze dozens of times during her stay, but her company, oh her company. Her sheer presence in his house, her essence, her spirit, her charisma had brought something to him that he'd neither anticipated, nor believed possible. Something he'd yearned for but could never seem to feel or hold or even acknowledge. He wouldn't let himself. He _couldn't_ let himself. She had pulled him from the hole, the cave that he'd dug for himself. She had freed him.

He buried his face in her shoulder, gasping in her delicate scent of sweat and euphoria. She clenched her fingers into his shoulder blades, drawing a sharp inhale as she gazed at the ceiling with parted, flushed lips. He settled against her, his body limp and exhausted.

He lay there atop her while his panting dwindled, their two breaths slowing to synchronized quietness.

"…I'm sorry," he finally mumbled into her moist neck. He licked his lips, finding he was rather thirsty. "I couldn't help myself."

"It's alright," she murmured with genuine sympathy. "I'm sure you'll be ready again in just a few moments. And when you are," she smiled, gently combing her fingernails through his damp hair, "I'll be ready to make a deal."

_THE END_


End file.
